This fic is a giftie for Lolmac. A full eight months ago I told her that I could probably come up with a comment fic for this graphic of hers, and here it finally is. IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE GRAPHIC, GO IMMEDIATELY AND SEE IT. I'll wait, and if you don't you may be confused. For those who are not regular visitors to the site, please note that there is mouseover text too. Don't miss half the fun!

Title:Oh Kneel Before Your Gods

Season: Well, before season 10 when TPTB callously assassinated the Asgard without even allowing them to send their regards to their favorite, O'Neill! Late Season 5 maybe?

Spoilers: For the existence and general deportment of Thor, Nirrti, Yu, and Cronus. Oh, and a wee one for Arsenic and Old Lace. Can you find it?

Warnings: Caution, Crackfic Escaped from Comments Due to Size. SILLINESS! Eeeeee!!! It's gen unless you want to squint through your Jack/Thor, Jack/Sam, or Jack/Daniel specs, but you'll have to work it from your end, I think.

Disclaimer: I did not ingest anything that reminded me of the '70's before writing this. I have not been following any rabbits down holes, or talking to little blond girls in blue frocks and pinafores. I freely confess to having spent a few too many moments in front of sitcoms as a child [they were what the school authorities parked us in lieu of recess on rainy days], although because my mother rationed TV, I'm willing to bet I've watched less than you have...

Oh, yeah. That other thing. Don't own them, won't break them, not getting a sweet producing deal. RDA and the rest won't be delivering lines I write, and I will definitely not be able to send my final two kids off to college on the proceeds. I won't even be able to buy a single square of bubble gum.

Be very, very thankful, because if this sitcom actually became a world wide hit, America would have to spend the rest of eternity apologizing for our single-handed utter destruction of world culture.

Oh. Wait. I forgot about The Beverly Hillbillies and Petticoat Junction. And the Kardashians.

Nevermind.

[Annoyingly jaunty music:]

RICHARD DEAN ANDERSON in

OH KNEEL BEFORE YOUR GODS

[We hear the theme song]

There was a raceFrom outer spaceWho came to Earth one day.

They brought some folksWho thought that yokesWere right for human fodder.

Kronos: You must help me organize a detail of weak-minded humans. There are bodies to bury before O'Neal and Officer Tillich get back from the DMV.

Nurti: Yew can do it. I'm going to be busy this afternoon. My experiments with the dog are finally getting to an interesting stage. I'll have it asking for its dinner and doing my bidding by nightfall.

Kronos: [scandalized] Me???!!!

Nurti: [scornfully] No, Yew!

[laugh track]

Kronos: Ohhhh! Yew. That old buzzard's too much of a softy. He'll tell them where the bodies are just to get O'Neal to order Chinese instead of Pizza tonight!

Nurti: Well if you'd just stop killing people...

[enter Yew, stage right]

Yew: Me? I didn't kill anyone lately!

Kronos and Nirti: [unison] Not you, Yew!

[laugh track]

Yew: Barbarian Greek!

Kronos: [self-satisfied smirk] I am not nice. Just ask our neighbor. [a beat] Oh, wait! You can't. He's dead. [he lifts what appears to be a human leg, still clad in jeans, a white sock, and a deck shoe from behind the couch]

[laugh track]

[Nurti exits, stage right still holding Poochini]

Yew: [refusing to acknowledge the grisly thing in Kronos' hand] Where is she going?

O'Neal: No, Yew is nominative singular, so the form of “to be” is “is” in this case! [laugh track] Kronos, whatever am I going to do with you?

Kronos: Kill him?

[laugh track]

O'Neal and Tillich: [unison] Not Yew! You!!!

[laugh track]

[enter Dannie and Sam, stage left. Dannie has her lab coat on, and Sam is in tweed. They are both wearing clunky dark rimmed glasses]

Sam: O'Neal. Officer Tillich. Kronus.

Dannie Sir. Officer. Yew.

Yew? Me?

[laugh track]

Dannie: Yes, you.

Yew: [preens]

[enter, stage right, a creature that is colored identically to Poochini, but shaped identically to Alf from the old sitcom, followed by a pleased and smirking Nurti]

Poochini: Has anyone seen a cat around here? I'm hungry!

[laugh track]

O'Neal: Poochini? Is that you?

Poochini: Who else?

[laugh track]

O'Neal: NURTI!!! I'll kill her! [begins chasing her around the couch]

Tillich: Veritably.

[laugh track]

[a chiming noise, and a light, the chase stops, and Thore appears]

All: Thore!

Thore: Greetings Earthlings. I note that things are once again out of hand in the O'Neal household, requiring my “vastly superior intervention,” as O'Neal would say.

Sam: So what else is new?

[laugh track]

Dannie: We could use your genetic skills to fix his dog...

Thore: I believe that it should be possible to repair the damage.

[a chime and a light, Poochini/Alf vanishes]

O'Neal: I'm gonna get him back, right? He's gonna be okay?

Thore and Tillich: [unison] Veritably.

[laugh track]

[a chime and a light, and Poochini in dog form appears on the couch]

O'Neal: [enthusiastically] Now see, that's what I love about you! [he approaches Thore and busses him on the cheek with a loud smacking noise, and Thore appears to blush]

Yew: Me?

The Rest: NO!!!

[laugh track]

Thore: Because I too care for you, O'Neal [he throws one arm around O'Neal's neck] I will repair Mr. Hoskins too.

[a chime and a light from between the couch cushions and behind the couch, and another chime and light, and Mr. Hoskins reappears alive, but somewhat dazed]

[Fade.]

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

As the lights came up in the briefing room, General Hammond could be heard to say that “This is the first few minutes of a small sample episode that Martin Lloyd made for the Comedy Channel. General Maynard informs me that he also approached SyFy, but they found it to be too “science fiction-y” for their purposes. I wish I could say that it improves from here, but I'm afraid that is definitely not the case.”

Three members of SG-1 were clustered with General Hammond around one side of the briefing table, facing the television on an AV cart on the other side of the table. Teal'c was reaching for another massive handful of popcorn from a nearly empty bowl, and Daniel, clearly valuing the safety of his hand over the chance to get another mouthful was quickly withdrawing his own hand. Sam was surreptitiously trying to lick the butter off her fingers before General Hammond could notice a non-regulation condiment on her hands.

Where is Colonel O'Neill? He is seated at the nearby desk which is usually staffed by Major Wood or Airman DeLouise. He is batting about a single kernel of popcorn with his right hand as if it were a hacky-sack, hitting it first with the palm, then with the back of the hand, then back to the palm....

“I think I need to have a word with Martin,” said Daniel. “Did you notice, Sam, how little our parts were? And he reversed our names!”

“That's fine with me, Daniel! Do you remember that Wormhole X-treme convention the Air Force sent us to, and how all the Mun/Reese types thought I was the Colonel's girlfriend? No thank you!”

O'Neill, from his vantage behind the other four, appeared to have eaten something astringent.

“Carter, are you saying I'm bad boyfrie---”

He petered out, having suddenly realized where this line of questioning was leading. Suddenly he appeared still more bothered.

“Does this mean, if this show is picked up, that the fans will be shipping me with Thor?”

Teal'c appeared, at least to those who knew him well, to smirk.

“Indeed, O'Neill,” he intoned with great satisfaction. It was not always easy to take orders from someone so many years his junior, and sometimes he needed to take his enjoyment where he could find it.

O'Neill was sufficiently bothered that he hit the kernel of popcorn far too hard, bouncing it rather forcefully off of the back of Hammond's bald head, earning him a stern glare from his commanding officer.

“Jack! It's not like the fans are going to know that Thor is a real person!” Daniel added.

Before the Colonel could get involved in another side discussion with Dr. Jackson that would devolve into something still more completely off topic, the General attempted to assert control and his authority. He treated them like the children they resembled.

“I think we are all aware of this, Dr. Jackson, and in any case, I would like us to stick with the issue at hand, whether the Air Force should, as we did with Wormhole X-treme provide a technical advisor to the production for the sake of plausible deniability? Colonel O'Neill? I thought I heard you having a bit of a discussion with Major Carter and Dr. Jackson just before you went to sulk in that corner. Care to share with the rest of the class?”

O'Neill was stung by this.

“I don't sulk.!” he cried. “Sir.,” he felt compelled to add.

“You do, O'Neill,” said Teal'c. “Especially when this subject comes up for discussion.”

He poured the unpopped kernels from the bowl into one massive hand and began crunching through them with evident enjoyment.

Jack sighed, and hung his head for just a moment, but Hammond didn't let him off the hook.

“They say I look a lot like that MacGyver guy, sir. I just don't look that much like him.”

“More's the pity,” Carter was heard to mutter quietly.

“RDA's a sexy guy, Jack,” said Daniel. “You should be flattered.”

A clear struggle between asserting his argument to the point of victory and preening in the face of an appeal to his vanity washed across the Colonel's face. He pondered Sam and then Daniel in turn and finally vanity won.

“Well, maybe a little,” he said. “In the chin. And the cheek bones.”

Hammond sighed. Colonel O'Neill was fond of calling his team “Kids,” and sometimes it was all too clear to the General that the Colonel led by example. It was going to be a long day.

But there, suddenly, as if out of thin air, was Sgt. Harriman with a styrofoam cup of piping hot coffee and an aspirin. It was well past time, Hammond decided, to look into the possibility of getting Harriman that promotion to Master Sergeant, with all the responsibilities and the respect that the jump in rank entailed.

He popped the aspirin in his mouth, and washed it down with a cautious mouthful of coffee, which proved to be neither too hot, nor too cold, and well sugared, just the way he liked it. He straightened his shoulders, and once again wrested control of everyone's attention.

“Your recommendations, people” he said.

“It amuses me, but serves little purpose other than this,” said Teal'c.

“Can we get them an archaeological advisor as well?” asked Daniel.

“It would add plausible deniability, especially since both productions could be traced back to Martin Lloyd with his confirmed history of taking strong psychotropic medications and spouting conspiracy theories,” proffered Major Carter.

All eyes swiveled to Colonel O'Neill, who was now restlessly flipping a pen, allowing it three full revolutions in the air before deftly fielding it.

“I say sure, sir.” he said, “Provided they can get that MacGyver guy to play me. He's got nice cheekbones, and a good jaw line, don't you think?”

Right on cue, there was Harriman again, just by his left hand, with a plate bearing two Krispy Kreme donuts.

Rank, Hammond realized, had it's privileges, and he took perverse delight in savoring every bite of those two delightful honey-glazed confections.

Had he been comparing Jack to a kid? Just now the pleading brown eyes that watched each bite travel from plate to mouth, the rapt attention, the cocked head, all reminded him of nothing so much as old Bounder, gone to his doggie reward some 25 years now.

Again Hammond sighed. No creature in all his years had been able to guilt him so successfully as old Bounder had. He looked at Harriman.

“The rest of the dozen are in your assistant's office, sir,” he offered.

Hammond decided that like the character in the Pogo cartoon, he had met the enemy, and it was us.

“I'm inclined to end this briefing now,” he said. “I expect reports and recommendations from each of you by oh-nine-hundred tomorrow. Dismissed.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than O'Neill was out of sight, disappearing around the corner in search of the treat. Dr. Jackson, no slouch in the sweet tooth department himself, showed surprising grace and speed in his journey around both Hammond and Harriman in his quest to make sure that he got there before all the chocolate donuts were gone. Teal'c strolled with regal grace after them, and no one present doubted that he would end up with as many donuts as he desired to have. Teal'c was a hard man to deny, and he was very fond of honey-glazed donuts. He said they reminded him of a Jaffa treat from the days of childhood.

Major Carter stood quietly, and folded the cover back over her clipboard and notes, picked up her pen and clipped it onto the cover, and straightened and buttoned her blue overshirt over her black t-shirt.

“I think I'll go see if I can find some jello in the commissary, and then I'll get right on that report, sir,” she said, and started down the spiral stair case.

It was quiet for a moment.

“Your schedule for the remainder of the day is on your desk, and your assistant will be back from Washington by thirteen hundred Cheyenne time, sir” he said, and left Hammond alone, pondering for a moment how grateful he was that real life was not afflicted with a laugh track.

Those things are infinitely annoying!

Furthermore, personally, he was planning on shipping ThoroNeal.

Chuckling, he made his way into his office, and prepared to tackle his paperwork.